“You guys know what sympathetic magic is, right?” she asked.

“More or less,” I said. “You cast on a spell on some object that represents another object, or maybe a person. Kind of like voodoo dolls – stick a pin in the doll, and the person it represents feels a stabbing pain.”

“That’s essentially it,” Rachel said. “I don’t mess around with vodoun – a lot of it comes under the heading of black magic. But I know that for the spell to work, the doll must not only resemble the intended victim, but also has to contain something that was physically part of him – or her.”

“You mean like hair, fingernail clippings, stuff like that,” Karl said.

“Exactly,” Rachel said. Then she turned to me. “You told me earlier that you had some baggies of Slide left, Stan. Do you still?”

“Yeah, two of ’em – they’re in my desk,” I said. “Are you telling me that you can cast a spell on a few bags of Slide, and that will affect all of the shit, no matter where it is?”

“Not by myself, I can’t,” she said. “Something like that, you’d need a great deal of magical power to make it work – a lot more than I possess.” She grinned at us. “But I bet I know where I can get some help.”

“The local coven, you mean,” Karl said.

“Yep. Quite a few of my sister witches are as concerned as I am about what Slide has been doing to our town. I bet they’d jump at the chance to help render the stuff harmless.”

“I want to be sure I’m following you,” I said. “You think you can change Slide – all of it – into something that won’t be addictive to supes anymore?”

“I would think so, yes,” she said. “We’d be able to alter its molecular structure – always assuming we can make the spell work, that is. No guarantees in the Art, as you know.”

“I’m no expert on magic,” Karl said, “but that sounds fucking brilliant to me, Rachel. Way to go.”

She shook her head. “Congratulate me if I can–”

“Don’t say it, Rachel,” I told her. “Just… don’t.”

As we walked back to the squad room, I said to Karl, “I just had the beginning of an idea. I think I’m gonna send an email to an old buddy of mine.”

“It’s always good to keep in touch with your friends, I guess.”

“Well, we used to be friends – at the U, before I dropped out to join the cops. Turned out, this guy became a cop, too – even though he stuck around to get his degree first.”

“He’s on the force? What’s his name?” Karl asked.

“Ted Kowal – but he doesn’t live around here. After college, he moved to Philadelphia – I guess he’s got family down there. Spent a couple of years doing this and that, then he joined the Philly PD. He’s a Detective Second in their Organized Crime Unit, now. Or he was, last I heard from him.”

“If you wanna talk to the guy, why not just call him?”

“Unlike you and me, he works days.” I glanced at my watch. “He’s probably in bed by now.”

“OK, and you’re gonna reach out for this dude because why?”

“Two reasons. One is Teddy probably knows as much as anybody – on this side of the law, anyway – about the Delatasso Family.”

“The original one, you mean – that Ronnie D’s old man controls.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I don’t get it – you figure that by finding out about the old man, it’ll somehow help us deal with his kid up here?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re being mysterious again, Stan.”

“I prefer to think of it as enigmatic.”

Karl looked at me. “Reader’s Digest?”

“Yeah. The January issue, I think. Or maybe it was February.”

“I must’ve missed that one. So enigmatic is like mysterious, huh?”

“Yeah, more or less.”

After a few seconds, Karl said “Two.”

“Huh?”

“You said you had two reasons for getting in touch with this Kowal guy. What’s the other one?”

“Teddy owes me a favor – a big favor.”

I got through the rest of our shift by drinking enough coffee to float a battleship. Fortunately, it turned out to be a quiet night – too quiet, like they say in the movies. It was as if the whole city was holding its breath – waiting. That’s a worn-out cliché, I know. But sometimes even clichés are true. You could see the tension in the way people walked and held themselves, hear it in the way they snapped at each other over stuff that usually would get no more than a shrug.

When I got home it was still dark, but the birds in nearby trees were already chirping in anticipation of the sunrise. I checked my watch and estimated there was about half an hour until dawn.

Christine was sitting at the kitchen table, eyes focused on the screen of her laptop. When I walked in, she looked up at me, glanced down at the computer again, then did a double-take. Her welcoming smile quickly turned into a frown of concern.

“This may sound like pots and kettles coming from me, Daddy – but jeez, you look like death warmed over.”

“And only lightly warmed over, at that,” I said. I hung up my coat and went over to look in the fridge. “Oh, you got me some pineapple juice – thanks, sweetie.”

“No problem, she said. “Would you like me to make some coffee to go with it? We could hook up an IV drip and put the stuff directly into your bloodstream.”

“I’ve had more than enough coffee already,” I said. “Besides, I’m done fighting sleep. In a little while I’m getting into bed, and sleep and me, we’re gonna embrace like horny teenagers.”

“Fatigue seems to make you poetic,” she said. “Have you really been awake for two days straight?”

I sat down and had a big swallow of juice, closing my eyes in sheer pleasure as it slid down my throat. Getting my eyes back open took some effort. “Afraid so,” I said. “A couple of things I had going didn’t quite work out as planned.”

“Like what?”

Knowing there wasn’t much time until dawn, I ran it down for her as briefly as I could. Making myself focus was hard. It felt like my brain was swimming through a river of sludge.

When I’d finished, she said, “Holy shit,” and shook her head slowly. “Poor Karl. Poor you, for that matter.”

I lifted my shoulders in a shrug that took more effort than it should have. “It all worked out, eventually. Things are actually looking up, a little.”

“What Karl did with the cross, though – that’s just… fucking awesome. I can’t wait to talk to him about it.”

I gave her a crooked smile. “Guess you vampires aren’t the spawn of the devil, after all.”

“I never thought I was,” she said, smiling back as she shut down her laptop. “I’m the spawn of Detective Sergeant Stanley Markowski, who’s only devilish once in a while.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got the beginnings of an idea that might take ‘devilish’ to a whole new level.”

“Really? I’d love to hear all about it.” She stood up, glancing toward the window. “But now it’s time all good vampires to go off to bed – and I’d say the same about one Detective Sergeant as well.”

“No argument from me,” I told her. “I’ll fill you in on the rest at breakfast.”

“I can hardly wait,” she said, then bent over to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Goodnight, Daddy. Sleep well.”

“I think that’s pretty much a sure thing,” I said. “’Night.”

I set my alarm twice that day. The first time was for 11.00am so that I could put in a call to Ted Kowal in Philadelphia. Fortunately, I caught him at his desk in the Organized Crime Unit, and it didn’t take much persuasion for him to agree to what I wanted.

“Alright, Stan – I’ll send it to you as a Word doc attachment before I go off shift,” he said. “You sure you want me to use your personal email address for this?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Christine nagged me into upgrading our home computer setup, so I’ve got a pretty good printer here.”

“Uh-huh. And I suppose once I’ve sent it, you want me to delete the message from my ‘Sent Mail’ file, and then get amnesia about this whole conversation.”